Whumptober 2019- Humiliation
by Frankie McStein
Summary: The deal was a simple one; the three men got everything they needed as long as she didn't take anything. She couldn't ask for it to stop, she couldn't beg to be let go, and she couldn't fight back.


The deal was a simple one: the three men got whatever they needed as long as she didn't take anything. They were given food as long as she didn't ask to eat. They would get medical supplies as long as she didn't take so much as a painkiller. They got blankets as long as she went cold, water as long as she went thirsty, left alone as long as she took the beatings. She couldn't ask for it to stop, she couldn't beg to be let go, and she couldn't fight back.

She didn't even know if they were still alive; it had been days since they had been captured, and she hadn't been allowed to see them since those few moments when she had been forced to watch as Hughes drove a knife into Magnum's stomach. Rick and T.C. had been allowed to go to him, to catch him as he crumpled, to press their hands against the flow of blood. She had been pinned against the side of the van, forced to watch as Rick was pulled away from Magnum and T.C. was ordered, at gunpoint, to drag Magnum to his feet.

As the three men were herded into the free-standing garage, Higgins had been dragged into the main house, down a corridor and into a dining room so large it was more like a hall. A metal hook had been drilled high up into the wall, and she had forced herself to stand still as her wrists were tied and the ropes hung over the hook. She'd wanted to struggle against the knots holding her, but her toes had barely touched the floor and she refused to humiliate herself for the amusement of Hughes and his mercenaries.

They had ignored her for hours, gathering around the long table and eating and drinking as if they didn't have three war heroes held captive in a two-car garage, as if they didn't have a woman tied up against the wall in front of them. She had fought not to reveal the slightest hint of emotion as she waited for Hughes to finish playing poker with some of his men. She'd known, as soon as she'd seen his face, that he was there for her and that he was going to kill her. She just wished he had left her boys out of it.

When he finally walked over to her and ran his fingers down her cheek, her instinctive reaction, a toss of her head, had nearly pulled her off balance. Her toes had scrabbled over the ground for a long second or two, and Hughes had stood and watched, a smirk on his face. And then he'd explained his plan to her, offered her his 'deal.'

"Those three men can't survive without supplies." He had made it sound like he was going to enjoy himself no matter the outcome. "And if they die, it's on you."

At first, he had told her Magnum wouldn't be allowed to lie down unless she stood. Higgins hadn't made the mistake of thinking it would be easy. She had squared her shoulders as best she could, tipped her head, and offered up a glare of defiance. For her boys, she would endure whatever Hughes could conceive of. Hughes had smirked at her and walked away.

Higgins knew she could say she was in good shape without being boastful; she did yoga just to relax, went running with two energetic dogs most days, had been learning to surf. She was strong and fit and healthy and trusted her body could handle this.

What she hadn't expected was the way time seemed to slow down. When her legs first started to ache, she had tried, with great care, to balance on the toes of one foot while stretching the other leg. It helped at first, easing the pain and the burn that was starting to settle in her muscles. She tried to time it, to stretch each leg for the same amount of time. But after the moon rose and the men who weren't on guard duty had drifted off to bed, she found it harder and harder to keep track of the seconds. She thought she had spent a full minute rotating her left foot about the ankle, only to glance at the clock on the wall across from her and find it had only been ten seconds or so.

Then she had tried to regulate her breathing, to calm her body and call her muscles back into order, but the rhythm she followed when doing yoga was impossible to find. The strain on her chest had already been taking a toll, and she hadn't been able to match her breaths to the count in her head. She'd felt a dull surge of anger flare in her gut; if she was struggling this much after less than twenty-four hours, how on earth was she going to hold out long enough for someone to come riding to the rescue?

She had put the anger to good use, borrowed its strength, used it to carry her through the hour her guards spent describing their favourite meals. They had laughed as her stomach had growled loudly and nudged each other in amusement as hunger cramps started to affect her balance.

As the morning dawned, it had found Higgins swaying slightly with each breath as her restraints made her lungs fight each exhale. The mercenaries had whispered to each other, apparently surprised to find her still awake. She had been insulted enough by their shock to make it through their breakfast with barely a blink. She had watched as Hughes had ordered food and water be taken through to the garage. The relief had made her dizzy, and she had lost a minute or two as she had fought to lock her knees and avoid sagging against the ropes. She hadn't been at all sure she would be able to keep breathing if she put more strain on her chest and didn't think anyone would rush to cut her down. She pulled up a memory of her boys, laughing and smiling, faces warm and eyes shining. She was doing this for them. She could handle this for them.

She had pinched her lips together and breathed through the cramps that attacked her feet and legs. She couldn't fall. If she fell, Magnum would pay for it. This was all her fault, and she wouldn't let any of those men suffer for her actions.

As the day wore on and her head grew lighter and she felt herself getting more confused, she had fixed the image of Magnum's face as he fell to the ground in front of her eyes and coached herself through the pain, as if it were nothing more than a tricky new yoga pose. Just wait it out, stretch into it, embrace the pull and the stretch. And when that stopped working, when the pain started to nip at her composure, when Hughes started saying over and over "of course, all she has to do is ask and I'll let her down," she told herself over and over to remember her boys.

_'You can do this,'_ she told herself. _'You've known for months now you would die for them. Time to prove it.'_

Food and water had quickly become harder to ignore; the men who were taking the food to the garage made a point of stopping in front of her for minutes at a time, holding the plates under her nose. It was easier once her mouth stopped watering. She had known it was due to dehydration, known it was a bad sign, but she'd welcomed it. It was one less thing to worry about. One less thing to pull her attention away from maintaining her increasingly precarious balance.

_'The boys,'_ her mind would whisper. _'They need to eat. Magnum will need his strength if he's going to recover from that knife wound.'_

Some of Hughes' men would stroll over and take a long drink. One, who she quickly promised herself she would kill as soon as she got the opportunity, thought it was hysterical to pour water over her head and then threaten to tell Hughes she had licked her lips. She had amused herself for a few seconds by listing all the different ways she could end his life while her hands were still tied. But she hadn't been able to finish it. The pain had become harder and harder to ignore. The burning in her throat had dragged at her with every breath.

_'They need water,'_ her mind had hissed. _'You'll be fine, but Magnum is already injured. And who knows if Rick and T.C. are still okay?'_

She had no idea if the promised medical supplies had been sent to the garage or not. All she could do was hope. Someone, she hadn't caught his face, had kicked out at her left leg while walking past, sending her swinging from the ropes. She hadn't bothered to try to contain her cry of pain. She hadn't bothered to try to hide how hard it had been to regain her balance, to force her weight back onto her over-strained legs.

She had been surrounded by laughter, the sound crashing into her, and she had wondered what on earth Hughes had told these men about her to make them act so inhumanely.

_'At least, if they're doing this to you, they aren't doing it to them.'_ Her thoughts had kept circling the same image, over and over; Magnum sprawled on the sofa, beer in hand, Rick and T.C. nearby, arguing over what type of pizza to order. She was meant to have been working; she'd only walked in to see if she could beg a cup of coffee. And she had instantly been dragged into the great pizza debate, as if the idea of her not staying was so absurd that none of them had even considered it.

_'You can do this. For them, you can do this.'_

_..._

After two days with no food or water, no respite from the burning pain, she hadn't been able to balance her weight any longer. Her knees had buckled and refused to straighten out again, leaving her hanging with all her weight held above her head. She had been struggling before, but now breathing was nearly impossible. Hughes had dragged a chair over to her, sat by her side, and laughed at the wheezing that quickly grew increasingly pronounced as her own body weight began to stop her lungs from working.

By the time he had stood and cut her down, she had been hanging onto consciousness by a thread. He hadn't tried to catch her, and she had landed hard, every part of her too exhausted to even try to stop her fall. She had wanted to just lie there, but Magnum's face swam in front of her. Two days of telling herself she didn't have a choice, that she needed to do it for her boys, had made the words settle deep in her subconscious, and she had tried to scramble to her feet, even just to pull herself up to her knees. Magnum couldn't stand, not with a knife wound. She needed to get back up.

A kick to her side her sent her crashing back to the floor, and a knee on her back had kept her there. Hughes had tipped his head, pressed his lips against her ear, and whispered to her that he would allow her this one failure. Then someone had seized her arms, her wrists had been re-tied and ropes had been wrapped around her ankles too. Hands had slipped under her arms, and she was lifted off the floor.

"That dark-haired one, the one who bled all over my new knife, he's really burning through my meds." She'd felt a wild surge of hope at that; if it were true, then Magnum was still alive. But then Hughes had grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "It's not a fair game if you aren't all playing for the same stakes." And he had driven his fist into her exposed stomach. She hadn't been able to double over or shield herself. A second blow had landed in the same place, and her stomach had heaved at the pain. A flurry of jabs landed on the left side of her chest, and she had cried out at the white-hot flash of pain as something gave under the assault.

Laughter rang in her ears as Hughes' fist had flown out again, catching her high on her right cheek. The shock of pain had made her feel as though her eye was bulging out of the socket, and she had heard her own breathless whimper over the shouts from the mercenaries who were watching with interest. An odd, dark haze had been dancing across her vision, and, for a second, she'd been afraid the blow had damaged her eye. Then the haze had suddenly lurched toward her as Hughes had hit her again, splitting her bottom lip, and, in the moment before it had enveloped her, she had realised it was unconsciousness and welcomed it.

And now, as she woke up, she realised that the beating had continued after she'd blacked out. Her body was on fire with prickles of pain rushing along her nerve endings. Her wrists and ankles were still tied, and she was shivering. Something was trickling over her face, and she thought it must be blood, that Hughes had done something awful after she'd passed out. But it was cold.

Higgins forced her left eye to open, her right refused to cooperate, and saw she was outside. It was raining, the kind of downpour she had thought she was leaving behind when she left the UK. She glanced around as best she could, swallowing down against the rolling of her stomach, and tipped her head back to follow the rope from her wrists to where the end was tucked securely under the wheel of a Land Rover. She couldn't lift her head to see the rope pinning her ankles, but a careful tug told her that it had been similarly dealt with.

She tried to tell herself that this was a good thing; she was stretched out between two cars, beaten and injured, beyond exhausted, and exposed to the pouring rain. So that must mean that her boys were safely tucked away in the garage still, out of the weather, possibly even with blankets, given that she was too cold to feel her fingers or toes. At least, if she could trust Hughes to keep his word.

Of course, everything hinged on that. He was using her boys as leverage against her and for that they needed to be alive. At least, she needed to think they were alive. They could have been killed the instant they were pulled out of sight. It could all be one more cruel trick.

She tried to reason it through, but her brain didn't want to work. Her stomach had been so empty for so long she didn't even recognise the hunger pains any more. The pain from her injuries and the damage from the prolonged stress position were making every joint hurt. Her throat was so dry that the temptation to open her mouth and let the rain pour in was almost overwhelming. Almost. But Hughes' voice in her head stopped her.

"_I won't even let them drink if you have so much as a sip of water. How long do you think they'll last?"_

Higgins folded her cracked lips over her teeth and closed her jaw, forcing her mouth to stay shut. Someone must have noticed they were missing, someone would be looking for them. She just had to keep her boys alive until they could be rescued.

She tried moving her limbs against the ropes. She wasn't sure what she was hoping to accomplish; even if she got free, she wouldn't be able to get to the garage, break in, free the guys, and get away before all four of them were recaptured. And that was always assuming they weren't all shot on sight. But she tried anyway, the rough ropes tearing at the already bloody skin on her wrists and rubbing raw patches into the skin of her ankles. She didn't even feel it.

She could feel herself sinking down and tried to fight but couldn't figure out how. She had to stay awake for the sake of her boys, but she couldn't keep her eyes from drifting closed. If she passed out, would Hughes stop the others from sleeping? Panic welled up in her chest, but her body was too far past its limits to sustain it. Her heart lurched a little in response, but then the feeling drained away.

She was so cold and so tired, and the pain she kept trying to control was just growing worse and worse. She hoped her boys weren't going to pay for this. Even the thought of them suffering wasn't enough. It just stuck in her mind and tormented her as she slipped away.

By the time the rain stopped, she was unconscious again. Her lips were tinted blue, her skin deathly pale, her breathing shallow and rapid, and even the capsule of smelling salts Hughes broke under her nose couldn't wake her.

...

Reality was slow to come creeping back. Higgins lay still for several long minutes, knowing that the slightest movement would reawaken the pain she could feel coiling around her but unable to remember why she hurt. There was something in her mind, something about Magnum and the others, something about them counting on her.

She couldn't be asleep! She had to stay awake for them. She had to suffer so they wouldn't. She forced her eyes open, and they landed on a cup sitting innocently on the floor in front of her.

"Welcome back." The voice made her shudder even though she couldn't put a name to it. "How long do you think those three men can last without water?" It sounded like an idle question, but there was a dangerous tone that sparked something in her mind, and she forced her eyes up to meet the gaze of the man speaking to her.

She tried to answer, but her throat wouldn't work, too parched to form sound.

"You knew the rules. You drink; they don't." The man's eyes dropped to the cup with a smirk.

"No." It was barely a whisper, and it hurt to say, but she hadn't meant to drink! He needed to know she hadn't meant it. He needed to keep sending water to her boys.

She pulled her arms under her, forced her weight over and up. The screaming of her muscles was instant and loud and overwhelming, but she was in a blind panic. Her weight moved, her arm skittering under her, and she dragged a leg forward.

"Please." If she could just reach him, make him listen, explain it hadn't been deliberate. She couldn't let her boys down. She would kill for them without hesitation, die for them just as quickly. They couldn't die because of her. That wasn't how this was meant to work. She was meant to keep them safe.

"Please." It was all she could say. The only word her mind could process, the only word her body seemed capable of saying. She pushed her weight forward again, shaking with the pain and the effort. Her legs collapsed under her, and she dropped hard to the floor, stretching her arm out toward the man in front of her.

"Please." She wasn't even saying it, mouth moving silently to form the shape of the word. The room around her swayed and flickered, blurring and darkening as her mind fought to stay conscious and her body tried desperately to drift away.

All around her, men were watching as she tried to crawl, begging on her hands and knees for the lives of the men she hadn't seen in days. They had smirked and snickered as Hughes had drained the cup then placed it in front of the young woman that they knew only as 'the snitch that killed my brother.' But they hadn't expected this.

Several of them looked away as she collapsed, uncomfortable for the first time with what they were helping their boss to do. The desperation on her face was haunting. The sure and certain knowledge that she had failed, that her friends were going to die, was driving her to a despair none of them had witnessed before, and only a few of them could handle it. Whoever she was, whatever she had done, she had paid for it now. As Hughes knelt next to her and ran a finger down her bruised cheek, it was all too obvious to everyone watching that the woman crumpled on the floor in front of him had been utterly broken.

...

Magnum groaned quietly as he stretched, not bothering to try to hide the twinge of pain as his side complained. Rick and T.C. watched as he relaxed down again, but neither of them said anything. There wasn't anything to say. The stab wound had been cleaned and stitched thanks to the medical supplies that had been rather surprisingly brought in, and the antibiotics seemed to be taking care of any infection issues. But he was still weak and light-headed, and the painkillers they had been given weren't strong enough.

But they did have ample supplies of food and water, something that was helping Magnum recover quicker than they had thought he might. The three men had no idea why they were being treated so well. Which had led to them worrying about how Higgins was being treated. Rick had put forward the optimistic suggestion that their captors needed her expertise for something.

"It's pretty obvious these guys are mercs, right? So, maybe they need technical support." He'd shrugged as he'd said it, as if he didn't really believe it but really didn't want to consider alternatives.

They had tried asking the men who had brought them their supplies. Tried sparking up conversations. Tried timing their arrival to plan a breakout attempt. But they hadn't gotten far. The men hadn't responded to their attempts at talking, and they seemed to be coming at different times each day. And Magnum was still too weak for them to attempt to wrestle weapons away from their guards. They were all worried about Higgins and knew they might only have one shot to get her and get away. They had to get it right the first time.

So, when they heard the lock being opened, they didn't stand up and get ready to charge the men opening the door, no matter how much they wanted to. They didn't arrange themselves about the space in such a way as to make it hard for whoever was walking in to keep an eye on them all at once. So, despite the fact that they all really wanted to hurt him, Hughes was unmolested as he stood before them.

"Gentlemen, I brought you something." He waved a hand, and two of his men stepped in, Higgins hanging from their grip. "She's no fun anymore." And he turned and walked away.

The two men carrying Higgins stepped closer to where T.C., closest to the door, was sitting. The look of horror and anger on his face clearly wasn't lost on them. They lowered Higgins to the floor as carefully as they could considering they were only holding the tops of her arms, then quickly backed out, two men at the door covering the prisoners with their weapons the entire time.

The three friends all scrambled over to Higgins, ignoring the door as it was pulled closed. Magnum went pale as he moved, but he ignored the discomfort, focused on Higgins. She was bloody and bruised, her skin had a hideous gray tint, her lips were cracked and bleeding, her breathing was raspy and shallow, and she was so achingly cold that she was barely even shivering. The three men moved into action, medical training and hard-won experience kicking in and drowning out their anger.

Magnum lifted Higgins as gently as he could, feeling a tug on his stitches as he did but pushing it away. He pulled her sideways until she was cradled in his lap, resting against his chest, then tried to support her while Rick checked her over for anything they could treat.

Rick carefully lifted her top, absently noting it and her pants were damp, and froze when he saw the bruises littering her body. T.C. came over with a blanket and helped him gently take the wet clothes off Higgins. There was no hesitation or embarrassment; wet clothes would leech away what little body heat she had left and so they needed to go. Between them, with Magnum ever so carefully shifting his arms out their way, they wrapped a blanket around Higgins, then, as Magnum settled her back against him, draped another over her.

Throughout it all, she stayed terrifyingly unresponsive. She didn't react to anything, even after she had started to warm up a little. When Rick pressed against her chest and told Magnum and T.C. she had at least two broken ribs, she didn't even flinch. When T.C. gently lifted her arms from the blankets and started wiping down the bloody mess of skin circling her wrists, she was silent and still.

It was hours before she started to stir, lips moving silently. She was still scarily pale, and some of her injuries had started to bleed again as her circulation had improved. Magnum whispered to her that she was okay. That they were going to keep her safe. He didn't dare take his arms away from their place wrapped around her; he was supporting all her weight, so it was Rick who leaned in and lifted a bottle of water to her lips.

"C'mon, Jules," he coaxed, tilting the bottle carefully, trying to avoid spilling the water. "Just take a little sip for now."

But she closed her mouth and turned her head. Something passed over her face, some echo of a frantic emotion, and then her lips started moving again. "Please," she mouthed, barely making a sound. "Please. Please." Over and over until she sank back into unconsciousness.

The men exchanged horrified looks, their minds racing as they tried to figure out what she had endured while they had sat in relative peace and safety.

The next time she started to stir, Rick tried again with the water. She didn't fight this time, but she coughed as it trickled into her mouth. The coughing went on and on until she was crying from the pain, tears trickling down her cheeks and one hand clutching uselessly at her side, and Rick was muttering apologies as he tried to soothe her.

"I'm sorry, Jules. I'm so sorry. Shhh now, it's okay." He looked utterly miserable as she finally caught her breath. "I don't know what to do. We need to get her out of here." No one said the obvious, that they had no way out, but they all thought it.

Higgins didn't settle this time; her fingers kept shifting as if she were trying to free herself from a restraint, and her feet kept twitching like she was trying to run. When her left leg jerked, Rick realized something was wrong. He lifted the two blankets and saw a dip in Higgins' leg where the muscle was knotted with cramp. He lifted her legs onto his lap and rubbed at the cramp, digging his fingers in as hard as he dared, hoping to make up for his mistake with the water by sparing her some pain now.

T.C. took Rick's position by Higgins' head and picked up the water bottle. He grabbed his own blanket and twisted the corner, then dipped it into the water. Rick and Magnum watched in apprehension as he ran the soaked material over Higgins' lips, expecting her to fight to get away or to choke again. Instead, as they all watched, her lips parted and the droplet slipped into her mouth. T.C. didn't look at either of them, just kept his eyes fixed on Higgins as he repeated the motions. This time her tongue lapped at the tiny amount of water that gathered on her lips, carrying it into her mouth, and the three men sighed in relief.

As the minutes ticked by, they stayed as they were; Magnum sharing his body heat, feeling Higgins' skin slowly getting warmer, Rick keeping the cramps at bay by massaging her legs, and T.C. hand-feeding her water one tiny drop at a time. It was obvious to them all that they had been used as leverage somehow, and they were determined to do whatever they could to help their Higgy recover from whatever she had been subjected to. The fact that they had no way of knowing if they were actually helping, if she actually felt the warmth or the massage or was actually swallowing the water, didn't dampen their resolve in the least. Keeping her warm, keeping her comfortable, keeping her hydrated, it was all they could do, and they would keep doing it until they could think of something else. Like how to get her to safety.

They didn't notice the shouting at first; Higgins was trying to talk, her hoarse voice muttering "sorry" and "my boys" and something else they hadn't managed to catch, and all their attention was focused on her. It was the gunfire they noticed. Their heads all snapped toward the door, anxiety running through them as they tried to figure out what was happening.

After a few seconds of shouting and shooting, everything suddenly stopped. Rick carefully tucked the blankets back around Higgins' legs and stood, planning on pushing his ear to the door. But something banged hard against it, and he and T.C. ended up standing between the door and Magnum and Higgins. They both dropped into fighting stances as the sound of the lock being opened reached them; whatever was going on out there couldn't be good, and they would be damned if they would let anyone lay a hand on Higgins. Whoever was out there was going to have to go through them.

The figure outlined in the bright sunlight stepped forward and instantly froze at the sight of the two ex-Marines ready to do battle.

"Easy, guys," came a wonderfully familiar voice, pitched low and held deliberately calm. "It's just me." Katsumoto raised his hands in a universal gesture of surrender, carefully letting his sidearm hang from just two fingers, clearly thinking he was dealing with two highly trained men deep in shock.

"Katsumoto, we…" T.C. didn't even try to finish, just let out a relieved sigh in a huff of breath with a shake of his head.

"Tell me you brought medics with you," Rick demanded, stepping aside so the detective could see the pair huddled on the floor.

Katsumoto took a few steps closer, confused for a second, then his eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing. A look of cold fury spread over his face as he took in the marks he could see on Higgins, and he turned and yelled through the open door.

More figures appeared, and Rick and T.C. took a few steps aside to give the EMTs room to work. T.C. made a point of mentioning Magnum's wound, but, other than that, the three men stayed quiet, listening as the EMTs quickly went through the injuries they could find on Higgins. Broken ribs, multiple contusions, possible internal bleeding, severe dehydration… the list went on, and it was stomach-churning to hear it all spoken out loud.

The worst came when they tried to lift her to the gurney. Higgins gave a violent jerk, hands flying up to push away from whoever was touching her, with a terrible, heart-wrenching cry of fear and pain. Magnum simply wrapped his arms back around her and held her close until she exhausted herself, his face showing the pain it caused him both physically and emotionally. She dropped back against him, panting, as her adrenaline-fueled rush of energy deserted her. This time, when the EMTs lifted her, she stayed limp and unresponsive, and the four men were left staring after them as they hurried away to the ambulance.

Katsumoto was the first to move, turning back as another EMT came hurrying in to check on Magnum.

"The man who was in charge here, Hughes?" He nodded at the looks on their faces: rage, pure and simple. "He's dead."

Later, when they were all gathered in Higgins' room and waiting for her to wake up, he would tell them that an old contact of Hughes had shown up with a job offer. The man, a former lieutenant, had served with Shammy for a while and recognized the name "Higgins" as one of his old buddy's new friends. As soon as he left Hughes, he had called his old friend and given him the location of the mercenaries' camp. Shammy had called HPD immediately.

The three men would listen as Katsumoto described the way Hughes had yelled that Higgins had deserved everything she'd got. How he had ignored their orders to stand down and charged at a group of heavily armed officers. How Katsumoto had taken the shot that put him down and how his men had given up all pretense of resistance with their leader dead.

Katsumoto would even tell them what Hughes had put Higgins through. The way he had used them to break her down. How he hadn't been satisfied until she had been crawling, begging on her hands and knees, convinced they were going to die.

T.C. would ask, with an edge to his voice, just what on earth Higgins could have done to Hughes. Rick would insist that it didn't matter, that nothing could have been bad enough for her to deserve what she had gone through. The two would argue half-heartedly about whether or not T.C. had meant to imply that, but the usual playful tones would be marked in their absence.

Magnum would sit quietly until the first sigh from the bed, the first sign that Higgins was waking up. And then he would spend the next half an hour or so talking quietly to her while the others sat in silence, not wanting to overwhelm her. Magnum would tell her it was all over. That she was safe. That they were all safe. That they owed their lives to her. And she would wake up, finally, for just long enough to tell him she was glad they weren't all dead before drifting back off to sleep, content in the knowledge that she had pulled it off and her boys were okay.


End file.
